


All You Wanted

by GracelessAngel17



Series: Grace [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Near Future, this fic is my mom's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracelessAngel17/pseuds/GracelessAngel17
Summary: All's well after Grace comes back home, even years later...maybe even better than Lucifer could ever have hoped for.





	1. November 4, 2023

**Author's Note:**

> Song: All You Wanted - Michelle Branch

During the seventh autumn that I spent with Grace, I realized something…

            I can’t believe I’d never noticed it before – hell I was the one doing it, you’d think something would click but I guess not – but it took having a conversation we’d put off for years before it dawned on me.

            I was falling again, harder this time.

            It’s not that I didn’t know I loved her, or that she loved me. We’d told each other as much several times since the first year, but she told all of her friends that at one point or another. She was affectionate with all of us in equal measure too; Grace and Rowena even got on good terms after a while and I pitied to no end whatever poor bastard tried to take them on alone after that.

One particular poor bastard was Gabriel the first time he referred to them and Mary Winchester – not a witch, but they still hung out with her sometimes – as the Sanderson Sisters. The next one was me when I bought them matching _Hocus Pocus_ t-shirts. Totally worth it.

            But as the years went by she started to look different, being around her felt different. Of course she got older as humans do and we grew more comfortable around each other the longer I stayed with her…but it was almost like I didn’t notice her until here lately. How could I not have though?

I wasn’t blind, for one. Grace held the same kind of wild beauty I remembered from Eden, like a flower descended from its long-forgotten gardens. For the first few years I thought of her as a mischievous sprite, a cute little sunflower type. Her bright warmth was impossible to miss. As she grew up – she rolls her eyes every time I tell her she’s aged “ _grace_ fully” – she became more like the roses that bloomed below her collarbone and along the edge of the porch, petal-soft and elegant. Many times I had to catch myself staring after her before she did.

I adored Grace much more than I probably should have, but she was the first person to give me a chance; I owed her some kind of devotion at least. She was the first to care about me beyond – in spite of, I should say – what my powers could do. She didn’t need me, but she wanted me here.

            I wanted her too, but I didn’t know how to tell her. Truth be told, I was scared to. What if confessing to her tore our whole friendship up by the roots, and I lost her for good this time? Death was easily fixed, but awkwardness was irreparable. Having the conflicting thoughts constantly warring in my head was the only fate worse than either of the options. Lucky for me she’s not a telepath…

            Still, it had to come out sooner or later.

She had just finished unloading Cloud from our trip to a nearby orchard and we were both stowing things in the spice cabinet and pantry, dodging and weaving around each other as if our movements were planned down to the second. Not once did we bump into the other; our steps were so in-sync either of us could’ve been alone in that kitchen and had the same mobility. She’s never complained about me being underfoot though, even when she was well within her rights to shoo me out of the room. We were that used to being two steps apart most of the time…

            So used to it, in fact, we couldn’t hear the whispers of the town over what we told ourselves.

            Given that her “medicine woman” business was run out of her house, which required her clients to come directly to her most of the time, I had two options when it came to company that didn’t include a Winchester coming over. Option A left me lurking in the rafters like a loose parrot or stuck wandering outside until they left, but I was none too fond of hiding from people in what was, for all intents and purposes, my house. Grace didn’t like it either because she had to lie every time some nosy old biddy asked her if she “had a man around the house” yet.

            She did, unbeknownst to them, but not exactly in the sense they were referring to.

            Option B meant the opposite; at some point she would have to introduce me to her patrons, and by extension the rest of the town too. And she wouldn’t lie about that either. Really, she couldn’t, not with the memory of her disappearance still lingering with unanswered questions. No one had been satisfied by her “conveniently spontaneous vacation after a ‘meteor’ landed in her front yard” story, but it was all they could get out of her for a while. Fear for our safety kept her tongue-tied as long as she could stand it, but the sheriff finally got the whole story when she dragged me to the fall festival, and a tiny town in the Bible Belt had to come to terms with the Devil living in their midst completely undetected for three years.

Four more years passed before the terror faded from voices and gazes that met us on the streets. Our one solace during that time was that she never lost business over me; she might’ve actually gained a few just from pure morbid curiosity. I distinctly remember she told the pastor’s wife during her first visit that, “The cat’s housetrained. I’m still working on the archangel, so you’ll have to take up complaints with his dad.” And then she gestured to the ceiling.

            That being said, I wasn’t actually there with her when she explained to Sheriff Willard who I was. He caught her the next day in town and demanded a better explanation to assuage any “unsavory rumors” that might spring up. The exact words and details are lost to me, and for the most part I was okay with that. All that mattered was not having to tiptoe around anymore, but curiosity started eating at me when we got back from picking apples today.

            One of the previously-mentioned prying biddies appeared in the market portion of the orchard at the same time as us; for the life of me I can’t remember her name, but I do recall that she says “honey” after everyone else’s when she talks to them, even me. I was busy perusing the jams while the two of them inspected the apples and spoke about some remedy Grace had given her for arthritis the week before. The words “miraculous” and “incredible” carried over the noise of the crowd, and so did Grace’s laugh, but the second I turned around to wave at them, they got awfully quiet. The other woman said something to her that made her head spin back around, and I had a feeling the pink that bloomed across her cheeks wasn’t from the brisk November wind.

            We left soon after that, and the gossip I missed out on got filed under, “Just the usual interrogation about my non-existent love-life, Luce.”

            I didn’t try to argue about it until we got home. Something in that question had turned the underside of her freckles red and I was determined to find out what it was, with or without her cooperation, “Okay, well then what’d you look at me for when she asked you if you were spoken for, hmm? You weren’t praying for me to rescue you, so don’t even go there.”

            “Wasn’t planning on it.” She closed the pantry doors and checked the counters for anything she’d missed; all that was left were the apples, one of which I held toward her as a sort of peace offering. Everyone’s inquiries into her marital status wore on her nerves at times, and I didn’t want to contribute to a bad mood. She rolled her eyes at me for a different reason though, and she smiled while she did, “Didn’t the last girl you gave one of those get in trouble?”

            “When has that ever stopped you?”

            “Very funny.” Grace took the apple, shined it on her blouse, then took a bite that puffed out one of her cheeks like a chipmunk, “If you **_must_** know, and I doubt that you really want to…”

            “ _Graaaace_ …”

            “She asked if **_we_** were together. If that was why I wasn’t dating anyone else.”

            Any and all witty retorts or snide comments died before the breath formed to make them, but my mouth hung open of its own accord. Her crooked grin never dropped, implying that she thought it all in good fun, just some neighborly teasing. What could anyone outside this house know for them to think that about us? We didn’t act like a couple out in public, y’know, since we aren’t one…yeah we live together but that can’t be so strange and these people can’t be that archaic…

            “What…I uh…what did you tell her?”

            Another bite of the apple snapped off between her teeth as she reached past me for the rest of them. I found it ironic and entirely unfair that I was the one called the Tempter when she turned to look at me over her shoulder the way she did, with that blush accompanied by a shy grin coloring her skin again. Grace was far from bashful, so my suspicions immediately spiked, for good reason as it turns out, “I told her she’d have to ask you.”

            “…you _didn’t_.”

            “I did.” She beamed back at me, nibbling the apple mischievously and letting her hip lean against the counter. A beat of heavy silence followed during which I had ample time to try and decipher how the rest of my day was about to go; either she was joking just to get a rise out of me and hadn’t been asked about “us”, or she had and was trying to gauge my reaction without giving hers away first, “So what’re you gonna tell her?”

            Taking a breath that felt too shallow and shaky, I crossed my arms and met her eyes quick enough to catch a tiny glimmer of what looked like hope escaping them. The half-eaten apple bruised brown beneath her fingertips the longer I hesitated, “What do you **_want_** me to tell her?”

            “Well…” Grace folded her hands behind her back, “ ** _am_** I spoken for?”

            “Do you…want to be?”

            She smiled, tilting her head coyly, “I wouldn’t mind that…”


	2. May 11, 2024

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: She Waits - Louden Swain

“You sure that’s everything?” Lucifer scanned the living room for wayward luggage for the fourth time since we’d finished packing the car this morning. I don’t know why he didn’t believe me the first three times, but I reassured him that we hadn’t missed anything important; Nox was with a sitter, any and all supernatural artifacts were locked away and warded, and I had double-checked the list of essentials for our vacation before closing the trunk of the car.

            I tiptoed over to him and took his hands into mine, pulling his arms around me until I was completely enveloped. His wings draped over me too, but they weren’t “out” so I couldn’t see the red-grey feathers that tickled my shoulders, “All that’s left is us.”

            “And you’re positive that you don’t want me to drive?”

            My head thumped against his chest and I sighed with as much loving exasperation as I could manage. I never should have told him when my birthday was, nor that I always took the week off from witching if circumstances allowed it. Until this year his excitement about travelling rivalled mine; he spent every waking hour looking up possible entertainment, places to stay and food that he could mooch off me. This turn around the Sun, however, has turned him into the worst worrywart I’ve ever seen, “Darlin’ it doesn’t matter who drives, seriously. It’s basically the same distance as it is to the cabin. I can manage it, but if you **_really_** want to…”

            Lucifer returned the huff with equal enthusiasm, tilting my face up so he could run his thumbs across the new sun-freckles I earned while gardening. He claimed to have counted all the ones that were there in winter and that he could tell which ones came and went with the warmer seasons.

            He also claimed to know how many grey hairs he’d given me via shenanigan-induced stress. My response of, “All of them you mean?” was not appreciated, but also was not denied.

            “I am just trying…” he said with mock irritation, “to be a good boyfriend on your birthday week, and not make you do everything when I am perfectly capable.”

            “And you’re doing a great job Luce. But stop fussing, okay? I **_want_** to do **_some_** things.”

            “But-”

            “Hey! Who’s the birthday-person here? Who is it?”

            At last he relented, not without grumbling and pouting, and the two of us slid into Cloud’s front seat side-by-side. We thought the drive to Myrtle Beach would be a peaceful one, as the ones to Sleepy Hollow, Disney World, New Orleans, Tybee Island, and D.C. had been. Several CDs rested in the case at his feet, waiting to fill the silence when the radio only registered static. We had snacks and drinks to tide us over until we stopped for lunch. My camera was within arm's reach if we spotted any noteworthy scenery.

            But our life is far from simple; moments of quiet are few and far between.

            Just as the tires passed over the South Carolina-Georgia border, his expression shifted from cheerful to concerned like he'd pulled off a mask. Something was terribly wrong, "It's Gabriel. He says it's something urgent...it's..." his face drained until it was white as the car's hood, "I have to go. Get to the beach house and I'll catch up."

            Lucifer vanished before I could ask what was going on.

            My solo ride was little more than a blur after that. I didn't even change the music for the rest of the trip, even though the same songs were on repeat the whole time. I didn't really hear them anyway. My mind jumped back and forth from trying to get in touch with any of the angels - I even reached out to Crowley - to trying to stay focused on the road. What could possibly be so urgent that he'd fly off without even saying goodbye? Why wasn't anyone answering me?

            I tried not to remember the last time I couldn’t get any of them to respond…

            The Winchesters and Rowena were the next on my call list; if I couldn't get a prayer answered maybe a phone would work. Rowena's rang for several minutes until I lost service. Mary's went straight to voicemail. It sounded like Dean picked up, probably by accident, and hung up without saying anything. Sam answered on the fourth ring, and I swear I could've kissed him through the speaker, "Sam, what's happening? Where are the angels?"

            "We're not really sure, Grace..." he admitted, the roar of Baby's engine almost drowning him out, "Cas and Gabe took off without saying anything. Haven't heard from them since this morning."

            "Are you out looking for them?"

            "We're on a case, we think it's what they're chasing after...I'll call you when we know more, okay?" Sam paused, letting a sigh crackle over the speaker, "They'll be fine. I'm sure-"

            The line went dead.

            "Sam? Sam!"

           

            Half an hour later, I parked my Impala in front of the little rental cottage Lucifer had found for us; it sat off by itself on the far end of the beach, with a front porch that led down to the sand. Not a soul was in sight as far as I could see. Alone was not a good place for me to be right now, but I was too tired to wander around town until Sam called back or Lucifer returned. I took the house key out of the little envelope it came in, stuck it in the lock with numb fingers wrapped around it, and shuffled inside. Inside was akin to stepping into a crypt; a thin layer of dust coated the floor, the air was still and too warm, and dead silence fell as soon as the door clicked shut.

            But not for long.

            " ** _Surprise_**!"

            My soul left my body that time Michael killed me, back when I first met all these other morons that were hiding behind the furniture. It wasn't fun then, and it damn sure wasn't this time either. Crossing my arms over my chest was the only means to keep me from strangling whichever one got close enough to grab.

            Lucifer, having lived with me for almost a decade and after dating me for six months, knew to stand well back until he could explain, "Okay so before you throw anybody through the sliding glass door, there actually was an emergency and we had to handle it first-"

            "Your present almost didn't make it on time." Gabriel interjected, holding up a blue gift bag full of sparkly tissue paper. Apparently, it was rescued from an incredibly slow UPS truck.

            "And the cake kept trying to melt..." Cas indicated an Oreo ice cream cake on the table behind him. He also mentioned that it was an uphill battle keeping Dean's fingers out of the icing, and he was sorry if he failed.

            Crowley pitched with Lucifer, whom he claimed had assisted him in rounding everyone and their luggage up and flying them here before I arrived. Baby, much to Dean's chagrin, was parked down the road at the beach and would be retrieved that night after we got settled in.

            I forgave them quickly solely because I was starving, and Rowena's present was a bottle of apple wine. Under any other circumstances every one of them would be sleeping on the porch.

            After a toast from my fellow witch, the Winchester boys gifted some grimoires they found in the Bunker I'd find more useful than they would. Similarly, Crowley gave me some ancient goblets encrusted with black opals, "Mostly for decoration love, but useful if needed." Mary contributed to my already overflowing wardrobe of silky, flowing skirts and floral blouses, because the endless closet at home didn't spoil me enough in her opinion. Cas got me packets of my favorite flower seeds; he loved our garden as much as we did. Gabriel said his gift, a protective amulet, was also from Chuck and Amara, who might pop in later if they could. Chuck's still worried I might pay _Him_ another visit if He's not careful...

            Last but not least, Lucifer finally came toward me with the bag Gabriel had been holding, "Took forever to make up my mind on this one...hope you like it, or I drove myself batty for a month for nothin'." judging by his sheepish smile he was pretty proud of his gift, so I couldn't help but get excited.

            "What have you been up to?" my hand fished through the tissue until it closed on what felt like a book's spine. It turned out to be a photo album of our lives, all of our friends, of me when I wasn't looking, of the Bunker and the cabin... with plenty of space for more.

            As I threw my arms around him, Lucifer pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, running his fingers through my hair and whispering, "Happy birthday Gracie."

            I pulled back and stood on tiptoe, kissing him with the wine's chill still on my lips. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he enjoyed his present as much as I did mine, "The happiest I've had so far."


	3. July 13, 2026

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST AHEAD, SORRY
> 
> Song: Not About Angels - Birdy

Grace's brother's birthday usually came and went without fanfare; she didn't have much cause to celebrate it with him being gone, but she didn't have as much cause to mourn it as she used to. She knew Thomas was in a better place than when she'd last seen him, but he still wasn't here with her...

Most years we just had a drink and a chocolate cupcake that night before bed. Sometimes, if she was feeling a bit more nostalgic, we watched one of her old Disney movies on the couch, a quilt over our legs and a cat in our laps. Aside from her missing her real little brother and reliving the memory of her worst enemy using him as a vessel, it could almost pass for a good day.

One year, however, "good" was far from an accurate descriptor.

The week before had been a pain in its own right. Between customers running in and out and helping the Winchesters with a case over the phone, neither of us had a chance to sit still from sunup 'til she slammed the door and drew the shutters. She barely ate anything in all that time, which only made her snappier and easier to provoke, whether you were actually doing anything or not. I don't think she stopped cursing everything between here and Dad's place until she finally slunk off to bed at ten-thirty the night before.

Normally we'd go to bed at the same time - I don't sleep but she's a cuddler and I'm totally down for that - but I gave her time to fall deeply asleep before I slipped into our room. She didn't stir when I pulled the extra quilt up to keep my inhumanly cold touch from waking her, nor when I pulled the girlfriend-blanket bundle into my arms and kissed her forehead. I knew she wasn't mad at me, not really. Couldn't really hold those days against her, but I could hold her against me and hope we'd both feel better the next morning.

It worked, if only for a little while...

Waking up was pleasant enough, even though neither of us wanted to uncurl from our knot in the middle of the bed. Especially not me. I never, in literally a million years, thought I'd be tangled up on a featherbed with my soulmate, and if it were entirely up to me we wouldn't be getting up before noon. Unfortunately Grace had chores to do around the house so she could churn out the next batch of oils and potions, so she peeled me off and rolled out of bed,"Nooo...come back." her tiny hand was just out of reach when I flopped over and tried to grab it. Were I not so lethargic after dozing off, rolling further and grabbing her by the waist could've been an option. Alas, I'm lazy.

"Nu-uh. I've waited long enough to get up." she cruelly flipped her pillow onto my head to muffle my cries, "C'mon, gonna need some help pulling those weeds."

"You just keep me around to do your dirty work, don't you?"

"Oh totally. No other reason whatsoever." she tossed her pajamas at me and rifled through the closet for something she wasn't worried about getting dirty. This late in summer, her freckles swept down her back to the bottom of her ribs, the outline shaped like wings lying flat against her skin, "Staring is impolite you know." her anti-possession tattoo peeked over the collar of her tank-top, the little rosebuds curving just below her throat. Her newest one, an infinity symbol completed by a red feather, sat proudly over her heart.

"Can't help it..."

 

Everything went downhill the second we set foot in the living room.

After brewing herself a cup of English breakfast tea - how the hell she drank it in 90-degree weather is beyond my comprehension - and eating a muffin, Grace noticed that Nox wasn't trying to trip or harass us like he normally did. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. He didn't move around much these days when he could help it; he was getting older and grumpier by the day. We still love the old sourpuss though, "Reckon where that fine cat of ours is?"

We called and called, but no little feet came pattering down the hall. No gravelly meow came from under the couch or his spot in the bay window. No fuzzy black cheeks brushed against our ankles as we ran up and down the stairs over and over, searching every room twice at the minimum. He wasn't there.

"Could he have gotten outside yesterday? There were a lot of people in and out..."

By this time Grace had paled with worry and her hands nervously tugged at her hair to keep themselves from shaking. This sort of thing was so unlike Nox. All ten years I'd been here he'd never so much as went off the porch without us, "Can...can you go look? I-I can't, I..." our minds immediately went down the same heartbreaking road. Tears were already pooling on her lashes as she begged, "Please just bring him home."

Unfortunately, we were right. I found him at the far end of the garden behind the butterfly bush, stretched out on the rock wall like he was sleeping in the sunlight. Like most pets, he felt his time coming and didn't want to upset his people, so he snuck out yesterday while we weren't watching to find a quiet spot. He picked a good one too, with a view of the valley Michael so generously opened during his last visit.

For the rest of my days I will loathe the moment I came back inside with Nox because I felt Grace's heart shatter from three feet away. He was her family, the only child she'd ever had or ever would, the one constant in her life before I came along. And now he was gone without a goodbye.

"I'm sorry, Gracie I'm so sorry...if bringing him back-"

She shook her head, rocking him as if soothing a crying toddler, "It wouldn't be fair to him." she sniffled, "Bring me his blanket and the shovel...we need to..."

"I know baby..."

 

Needless to say, the rest of the day's events were put off for the unexpected funeral. I dug a place close to where I found him; nothing was planted there because there were too many rocks in the soil. Grace wove a wreath of dandelions and daisies that would mark the grave until she could get a small stone engraved. No one spoke. After the dirt was patted down, the only sounds in our ears were birdsong and wind in the trees. Her tear-tracks turned to streaks of mud on her cheeks, and I had a few of my own by the time we went back inside.

In her numb grief, Grace tried to put her pajamas back on over the sweat and dust, but I managed to catch her and pull her into the master bathroom. She stared blankly into the claw-footed tub under the window as the steaming water bubbled nearly to the brim, barely registering when she practically melted into the soap suds. I didn't think to tie her hair back, so her waist-length curls dragged in the water like the muscadine vines that hung over the creek, even when she raised her head from her knees, "Another death to remember this day by..." she muttered bitterly, popping a bubble, "Why does everyone leave me like this...?"

My hand stopped midair on its way to wipe the dirt from her face with the cloth I'd fished out; I didn't know whether to keep going or to not touch her at all. For once, she seemed as fragile as humans truly are and I was terrified one wrong move would break her irreparably. Even my words felt clumsy, "Well, it's not because they wanted to honey...Nox didn't want to leave you. Thomas didn't." Her blank gaze bore right through me, every word passing through one ear and out the other. I didn't have to read her thoughts to know she refuted each name I gave with one of her own; her own parents kicked her out, childhood friends forgot her, and death came for so many others. Abandonment's roots ran deep in her mind, somehow convincing her that every time it was her fault. Grace even feared, though Dad knows why, that if she were to die permanently that I wouldn't move all of Creation to stay at her side.

She whimpered, pulling her knees to her chest as tears spilled into the tub, "What if you go somewhere I can't? What if you..." she couldn't finish that thought. She wouldn't, “Please don’t leave me…please don’t ever leave me…”

Without thinking twice about water sloshing over onto my clothes or the floor, I drew her soaking wet figure in as close as physically possible with the tub wall in the way, hoping to leave no room for that nightmare to form, "Woe be upon any fool who tries to part me from you, Grace..."


	4. January 7, 2028

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Like Real People Do - Hozier

Contrary to much of the lore surrounding angels, they can feel things just like humans do. Granted it takes more to stir their feelings than it does for us – the pain must be near-lethal, the love all-consuming, the anger enraging – but they do possess emotions and all five senses.

And they can definitely feel, and express their thoughts about, a snowball to the head.

"You can run all you want dear, but you have to come inside sometime!" Lucifer taunted me from the basement door, a retaliatory wad of snow already in his fist. He was right though. I'd have to go through or around him to get back to the cabin, but both of those options held the possibility of getting ambushed. I had no backup to call - none that could make it up the icy mountain safely - and my opponent's skin was naturally frigid, so the weather didn't wear on him like it did me.

We'd been outside since lunch and the clock was drawing close to six in the evening now. A snowman guarded the front door, his crooked pebble eyes staring down the driveway. I took countless photos of the rare weather. Two snow angels decorated the hill, one with three pairs of wings and the other with boot-prints at the feet. I showed him how to make slushies with juice and a bowl full of snow; this was the first time we had enough to do all of this in one go. Usually there wasn't enough to wet the soles of my shoes and it was all gone before sunset.

Today was special though, if only because the flakes had fallen knee-deep and I somehow nailed Lucifer in the shoulder on my first throw.

It all fell apart from there. For three hours after the initial attack the woods became a playground all the way down to the waterfall cave, with us diving behind boulders and dodging through the trees. I will give him credit for not using his powers against me...but even from my hiding spot it was plainly visible that he was considering discarding chivalry.

Fine by me. I can play that game too.

"You'll have to catch me first!" I called back, and he immediately spotted me; with a flick of the wrist I knocked every bit of snow from the porch - it wasn't much, we had to sweep to get the door open - onto his head and bolted for the front door. It would take him a few moments to recover from the avalanche, so I thought I had a tiny head-start. It wasn't enough, but by the time I realized it he had already slung me over his shoulder like a caveman.

Mercy and loyalty went out the window as snow found its way past all three of my shirts and down my spine. His perpetually freezing fingers ruthlessly tickled me when they weren't trying to keep mine from returning the favor, because he knew if I got him pinned down it was over with. Truce means nothing to me when I have the upper hand...which wasn't the case in this situation, so I was more than willing to negotiate.

"If you're going to torture me..." by this time I was upside down, dangling by my ankles mere inches over a snowdrift deep enough to bury me in, "at least take me inside so I don't get sick." considering how futile it was to try and wriggle free from that position, talking my way out of it seemed like the next best thing.

But somehow it escaped my mind who I was dealing with, and Lucifer only grinned with more mischief, "If you're worried about that, you know I can just kiss it better." turning his powers against me, he snapped with his free hand and I soon found myself right side-up, wrapped around Lucifer like a kudzu vine and pinned against the support beam under the house.

"You wouldn't dare."

He very much would dare, and did, "Is that right?" his icy breath cut through my thick wool scarf like it was made of tissue paper. It was a much more pleasant chill than the biting cold of the wind and snow, but shivering kinda cut into the fun on my end, "Why wouldn't I want to do that?"

"Because," I caught him before he went in for another kiss along my throat, instead pulling him up so that our lips met, "I'm much cuddlier when I don't have pneumonia."

"Fair enough." he adjusted my position again so that he could carry me inside bridal-style, "I have a surprise for you inside anyway. I've put off giving it to you long enough..." a faint blush crept across his face, only barely discernible from the winter rosiness already there. Making his cheeks flush was a hard-to-attain feat, so him doing it to himself sent the gears in my mind a-turning. What on earth could he be up to?

"Oh, you sprout chicken feathers or something? Why've you been holding out?" my teasing got me unceremoniously dropped on the couch like a sack of smart-alec potatoes. Lucifer considered flipping the quilt down off the back to hush me but realized how short that silence would be and kept walking toward the stairs, "I'll be right back."

"I'll be in the kitchen while you work up your nerve darlin'." After my giggles subsided, and he threatened to bring our snowball battle into the house if I gave him anymore lip, I got up to shed my soaked outer layers and to start on supper. Now that he'd gotten into the habit of eating sometimes, I could cook bigger meals without having to deal with leftovers as often. Cookbooks that gathered dust in closets for years finally got some use, if only on special occasions or days we had the spare time.

Tonight felt like a spaghetti night; the recipe was one of the few positive memories from my life pre-Georgia, one of the only happy things I had connected to my blood relatives. I didn't need the book for this one, but I laid it on the counter alongside the strainer and the jar of sauce, just in case.

I didn't miss my "family" either, not the ones I left behind that night Creed's hounds came calling...they were only aching memories now, whether they were alive or dead. The Winchesters and Macleods and their angels were the ones there for holidays and awful days and the days in between. They were the ones I called with news and gossip. They were my family now, for better and worse and whatever else.

Especially the one trying to sneak up on me when he knew the floorboards creaked.

"Already in a celebratory mood I see." Lucifer dropped another kiss on my temple as a new bottle of wine clunked down on the counter next to the toast pan, "Hope I don't spoil the mood."

"With that? I think not." this wasn't the big reveal though; he wouldn't get all worked up over a bottle of fermented grapes. Something else was up his sleeve, "But my guess is this isn't all you've got in store, is it?"

"It isn't." He lifted me onto the counter so that we were eye-level, then slowly reached into one of his back pockets.

My first thought came and went as if I hadn't thought it at all. It made sense, but my brain just wouldn't register it as reality. Then I tried to remember which holiday was close enough to celebrate with gifts; Christmas and New Year's were long-gone, and Valentine's wasn't for another month. My birthday wasn't anywhere nearby, and neither was our anniversary.

“Grace Morgan Harbinger,” I don’t remember him ever saying my middle name before, or ever telling him what it was, but in the snow-muted cabin it sounded like a sacred incantation. Our eyes met, but I could see nearly the whole room at the same time, almost as if I were floating beside myself. This couldn't be a dream though. No dream I'd ever had of this moment was this simple or serene.

He held out a small blue-black velvet box, its lid trimmed with gold filigree. I remembered seeing it in the window of an antique store a few weeks ago when we were Christmas shopping. I remembered what lay inside, how beautifully it glistened in the cold sunlight. The band was dark pewter, almost black, until you got up close and saw the greys all melting together. The stone was as white as the flakes still melting off my boots, except for the rainbow spots that caught the fireplace’s light, “you've been there for me like no one else...and I know neither of us need a ceremony or physical thing to remember that, but this feels right. I-I want everyone to know I am yours and you are mine...so...will you...marry me?”

            It fit perfectly, “If you’ll have me.”


	5. August 15, 2028

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 15th is also the day they met in "You're My Saving, Grace" so of course I picked it for this
> 
> Song: How Would You Feel - Ed Sheeran

Cosmically speaking, the twelve years Grace and I spent together is less than a blink, not even a blip on the eternal radar, and definitely not long enough for me. All the time in the world wouldn’t satisfy me. I lived for millennia before her most distant ancestors were even considerations in the back of Dad's mind. Time meant almost nothing to me at any other time...but the seven months we spent being engaged seemed much longer than they had any right to be.

I don't know whether to blame excitement or nerves either. Both are equally guilty.

It's not like our lives were being drastically uprooted with this ceremony, but both our nerves were aflutter any time we thought about it for too long. Nobody's last name was changing because I don't technically have one to begin with, I didn't know my vessel's last name, and she refused to take Shurley as hers when Dad later suggested the idea. We all thought she was still kinda mad at him, but she claimed that, "That's not even his real last name so it doesn't make sense for me to take it. And last time I checked I’m not marrying Chuck either." If it became too big of an issue I suppose I could just become a Harbinger, but I don't think there's another Lucifer for me to get confused for without it.

Our relationship itself wouldn't be changing much either, aside from its official status. We lived and traveled together long before we even started dating, and we were far from Puritan when it came to affection once we got together. We bickered and nitpicked like any other couple, though our arguments usually included spells and potions instead of bake sales and household chores. A lot of folks in town thought we were married already just based on us picking on each other; the engagement announcement on the church bulletin board shocked quite a few people.

So of course my mind started racing with thoughts of "Do we really need to do this? What are we trying to prove?" and "What if she only said yes because it's 'what you're supposed to do' in that situation?"

She could've smacked me for that last one, she said so herself, but she just kissed me so hard it took her breath and promised that she would've asked me if I'd waited too much longer. She wasn't in this for the tradition, she was in this for us and all our little oddities.

The ceremony, in all honesty, was purely an excuse to get dressed up and throw a party for us and our family. Grace spent weeks poring over designs and materials so she could then spend several more weeks making outfits for the entire wedding party of nine: Dad (who was the officiant of course), my brothers, Amara, Rowena and Mary. Sam, Dean and Crowley only narrowly dodged a very flowy and floral addition to their wardrobes, and because of this they were not offended to be left off the groomsmen list. Grace later confided in me that they seemed to have forgotten about Christmas, and that she had some particularly ugly handmade sweaters in mind for them.

The location was a no-brainer, but it still took all four angels - Michael included now that he's back and we're on better terms - to find and set up all the decorations at the cabin. Well, in the general vicinity of the cabin anyway. It was actually closer to the waterfall than the house itself. An arbor of red and yellow roses stood in front of the cave entrance where we would stand for the vows. We didn't bother with a fancy rug to mark the path since it was so far into the forest, and instead raked the leaves off to the side and the younger angels drove pole-mounted lanterns into the ground at the edges. Michael and I carried old church pews, which Grace rescued from an estate sale, down the hill and arranged them in a semi-circle in the clearing. Most of her coven friends from the battle with Michael and a few folks from back home had RSVP’d, as well as our usual pack of misfits. It was a much bigger group than I expected, but, and to quote my fiancée, "If we can feed everybody that shows up with Chick-fil-a catering and pizza, the more the merrier."

As we tied gold streamers to bouquets and attempted to get the tablecloths straight in spite of the breeze that kept blowing, Michael became perplexed and turned to me with a question that snatched the non-existent rug from under me, "Lucifer, is it not human tradition for the bride's father to escort her down the aisle?" he regarded the flowers in his hand as if they held the answer, "None of the male guests are her kin, so who will walk with Grace?"

All of our rustling and fidgeting stopped cold. It was so easy to forget that he didn't know her side of Creed's story...it was all so long ago, and it didn't help that we actively tried to forget her darkest moments, "Her...her father is dead." Castiel spoke up after some time, "And they weren't close when he wasn't, from what I gather."

Gabriel nodded along, readjusting the bow he tied around the stems, "Dude was a dick, Mike. She wouldn't want him here even if he was still kickin’...but you have a point." he knit his brows together in concentration, "She didn't ask Sam or Dean I don’t think. Maybe Crowley is?"

I shook my head, "She hasn't asked anybody. Hasn't even mentioned it." I distinctly remembered asking if she wanted me to walk down from the house with her, but she shut that down immediately; she didn't want me to see the dress before I was "supposed" to, not to avoid superstitions but because she wanted one of her photographer buddies to get a good shot of my face when she enters the meadow. It was her big day, so I hadn't argued about the decision then, but the fact that she would walk without an escort suddenly felt like a thorn lodged inside my boot. Is that what she actually wanted, or did she feel like she didn't have another option? I wanted to ask her, but I didn't want to run the risk of ruining the whole wedding's mood over a single detail.

We returned to the cabin to get dressed, all of us now equally distressed by our own wandering minds.

All the ladies except the bride-to-be were in the living room when we arrived, putting finishing touches on their hair and makeup and strapping on their sandals. I had to admit the fiery color scheme worked for all of them, even Amara who'd never worn anything but the darkest black available. Grace managed to make them all look like woodland nymphs, so I could only imagine how divine she must look...

Mary was quick to pick up on my searching gaze - Sam had to get his brains from somewhere I guess - and tilted her head towards the second story, "She's up there with your dad. And she told us to keep you down here."

Amara sensed the spike of panic that arose at the mere thought of my almost-wife and father alone together – I was worried we would end up preacherless when all was said and done - and tried to embrace it away, "He just wanted to talk to her. Everything's fine."

"He say about what?" Dad wanting to "talk" rarely ever ended well, and if he screwed today up Grace would forget the meaning of forgiveness. So would I.

"Didn' seem like anything serious. Prob'bly asking about her vows, something teeny..." Rowena interjected, also aiming for a reassuring tone while primping her hair. Their indifference didn't help my nerves, but I didn't have time to fuss now. We were running behind as it was.

Amara practically shoved us out the door once we changed shirts and shoes - Grace wasn't picky about our pants as long as they were dark - so the procession could get going. Guests had already been shown the way by the Winchester brothers and Crowley, and the band waited on the makeshift dancefloor to the left of the river.

My heart would've stopped right then if I had one.

Dad wasn't under the trellis. The damn priest was late to the wedding...

All three of my groomsmen turned to give me bewildered stares, which I shot right back at them as subtly as possible. We all prayed the congregation wouldn't notice our startled expressions and realize something had gone sideways within the first five minutes. The girls started to appear not long after we were settled into our places, but still no Dad in sight. For that matter, there was no Grace at the back of the line either.

Gabriel, ever the joker with horrid comedic timing, suggested under his breath that our father had kidnapped His future daughter-in-law to make His objection to the union known. Were there not so many witnesses around, I would've thrown him into the water.

My motion was arrested, however, by the sound of a familiar song and the sight that followed: Grace, a gold and rose-colored vision more lovely than all Eden's gardens combined, beaming and walking arm-in-arm with Dad.

 

That evening as the fireflies and fairy lights lit up the trees, the guests milled around with food and drink and I pulled Grace to a corner of the portable stage for one of the slow dances, “So I’m guessing that’s what Dad wanted you for earlier? To ask to escort you?”

She smiled as she swayed along with me, her head leaning against my shoulder at just the right angle that the flowers in her crown tickled me when she moved, “He wanted to thank me for looking after you when He left…He said there was no way to really make up for all the time y’all lost, or for what I lost with my daddy either, but He wanted to try and repay me any way He could.” When she glanced past me to look at Him, her eyes were soft and happy for once, rather than glimmering with thinly-veiled spite, “There was also a rip in one of his sleeves and he needed me to sew it back so it wouldn’t be flopping around.”

“ ** _Wow_** …”


End file.
